


gonna take it slow babe

by closerverse by (wonthetrade)



Series: Come on Closer [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10041014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/closerverse%20by
Summary: PK's lingerie drives Carey nuts.





	

Everyone knows PK loves clothes. It’s one of those facts of life in Montreal. People are crazy about hockey. Everyone hates the Bruins. Les Gallys are trouble. PK loves clothes.

It’s not really something Carey notices. PK is gorgeous no matter what she wears, that’s his opinion. She’s gorgeous after wind sprints, a flush high on her cheeks and her skin dewy with sweat. She’s gorgeous during games, triumph bright in her eyes and her smile blinding after she’s unleashed one hell of a bomb from the blue line. She’s gorgeous in some dress that costs more than the worth of some of the rookies’ ELCs, as graceful in six-inch heels as she is on the ice.

Carey’s pathetic. He knows this. But it’s PK, so he thinks he gets a pass. She has a standing lunch date with Elise Beliveau every week, for crying out loud. 

That’s not the point. The point is that PK is a fiend with clothes, but he’s never really given any thought to whether or not she applies that same kind of love to what she wears beneath them. It’s a good thing he hasn’t; he’d be long dead, otherwise.

(Death by PK wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, but they’re not like that.)

The first time he notices, it’s pretty innocuous. PK looks like something right out of the forties, in a tweed-like suit done in rich purple that hugs her curves like a second skin. When she turns around, his eyes arrow in on the black stripes running up the back of her legs. He almost goes headfirst into a wall.

_ Stockings _ , says a voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Gally.

Silk stockings, probably. His mind is crowded with thoughts of how their texture might compare to her skin, but he shakes that thought off as soon as the bus pulls up to Madison Square Garden.

The second time he notices what’s under her clothes is at the NHL Awards. She finds him during the after-party, hugging him close even though she’d all but jumped him every time his name was called. Now though, he can finally ask the question that’s been lingering at the back of his mind. “What are you wearing under this thing, armor?” he jokes lightly. There’s something firm beneath the smooth red velvet, and it’s been driving him slowly nuts imagining what it is.

PK winks. “Feminine armor, Pricey. It’s a corset. What else could make my boobs look so spectacular?”

He doesn’t look, even though he goes slightly light-headed in the attempt and barely refrains from blurting out that her boobs always look spectacular. A  _ corset _ . That’s why her waist looks like that, and her dress drapes over her like  _ that-  _ “Aren’t those supposed to be torture devices?” he inquires around a throat gone dry.

“Are you kidding me? It’s amazing. My posture is  _ great _ .”

The rest of the night is pure torture, because all he can think about is how she looks beneath that dress.

That’s it, he’s going to hell. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just idle spikes of lust for a teammate, but with PK it’s more. It’s about her smile and the joy she brings to the game. It’s about those hands and the art that pours out of them. It’s about the unapologetic way that she lives her life, how devoted she is to her family, and the generous heart that just wants to  _ give. _

All of those things together can destroy a man, and Carey considers himself well and truly destroyed. He never had a chance. Not from the day she bounded up to him in the locker room, all exuberance and amazing confidence as she proclaimed, “You and me, bud! I’ll have your back, no worries.”

And she has. They’ve had their ups and downs since then, but she’s always kept that promise. She’s his best friend, his lodestone, and Carey honestly can’t remember a time since meeting her when he hasn’t been in love with her.

These little glimpses of silk and satin and lace, they’re just the icing on the cake and a means of erasing his sanity. The umpteenth time he notices her lingerie happens after a game. He’s waiting by the women’s dressing room because PK wants to grab coffee or something and he can never say no to her. The door is slightly ajar and he doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it. He looks.

PK has her foot propped on a chair, focused and intent as she-

Lord help him. She’s wearing  _ garters _ . Has she been wearing them this whole time? All those times he’s stared at her stockings, and this is how they’ve stayed up?

He wouldn’t be surprised. This is PK. When it comes to sartorial choices, she’s incredibly detailed. Stockings. Corsets. Now garters. It’s amazing he still has brain cells left. Or that he hasn’t fallen to his knees in front of her and proclaimed his undying love and completely ruined their friendship.

PK has never given any indication about her feelings. Carey knows her, how she wears her heart on her sleeve around the people she’s most comfortable with. He knows he’s looking, but she’s not looking back. And that’s fine, he’ll take her friendship any day, and he’d rather hurl himself into the Saint Lawrence River than push her in any way.

“Are you okay, Pricey?” PK’s in front of him, coat buttoned up over her dress. Her eyes are dark and concerned as she peers up, her touch gentle as she takes his wrist. “You look kind of-”

Overwhelmed? Smitten? Horny? All of those things apply, but Carey sums up some deep well of strength and manages a slight smile. “Just drifting, PK. Where’s that coffee you owe me?”

The look she sends him says that she isn’t buying it for a minute, but she doesn’t press, just like every other time she’s caught him like this. Sometimes he just wants to blurt out the truth, that he’s madly, ridiculously, hopelessly in love with her and to hell with everything else.

But he doesn’t.

PK threads her arm through his. Her scent washes over him, something fresh and woodsy today. It’s always changing: some days it’s sweet like candy, or deeply floral in a way that should remind him of his grandmother, but not on PK. It’s just another one of those things, those little details that sink their hooks deeper into his heart. “I hope you’re ready for the best coffee of your life, Pricey, because that’s exactly what you’re getting.”

* * *

 

Being injured sucks. Coming back and making the injury worse is...even worse. Carey’s already gotten in trouble with PR for tweeting too much, and who knew that was such a thing? He’s twitchy from the inactivity and irritated that the PT doesn’t seem to be doing enough to get him back on his feet. He has faith in Condi and Scrivs, but it doesn’t change the fact that that’s his net and his ice.

One thing he can’t complain about is the amount of time PK is spending with him. She barely seems to live at her place anymore. She sleeps over at his half the time, slowly adding to the collection of clothes and toiletries she already keeps in his spare room. She eats his food and takes Duke and Mody out when he’s feeling too crappy to do so, and the end of every away game finds her letting herself into his house and sliding into bed with him, claiming that she doesn’t want to go home because it feels too lonely.

When it gets like this, Carey can almost pretend that this is real, that this is something they really do. That PK is his every bit as much as he is hers and he’s not just some pathetic idiot mooning over his teammate.

PK’s currently loading the dishwasher and putting away the leftover goulash. Duke and Mody are usually happy to stay with him, but every once in a while one of them will get up and investigate what PK’s doing and beg for affection. Lucky, lucky dogs.

“You picked anything to watch?” she calls.

“Game?” he replies, flicking through the channels.

“You’re just going to get mad, Pricey, put it on the Travel Channel or something.”

He shrugs and obliges, and by the time she comes back out, Josh Gates is trying to hunt the Yeti through Nepal. “Yes, Bigfoot!” she declares, dropping down beside him and snuggling into his side. Her sweater, wide at the neck, slips to the side and he has a mind-numbing glimpse of what looks like lace.

Ignore it, Carey tells himself, but it’s next to impossible. Tonight she smells like spices and leather, and it’s almost like cologne and then he’s going down the rabbit hole of wondering what she’d smell like wearing his cologne  _ and- _

That’s it. He’s going to hell.

In the end, he just  _ can’t _ . The shoulder of her sweater has been dipping lower and lower, showing off more of that horrifically distracting lace. His mind is racing with the possibilities, of slowly stripping that cream sweater from her body and-

Dammit. He has to stop. This is PK. His best friend. He’d never forgive himself if he ruined that because he can’t seem to keep it together around her anymore.

So Carey sighs, and tugs the neckline up over her shoulder. PK snorts and cranes her head around to look at him. “Seriously, Pricey?”

“It was slipping. I fixed it,” he points out.

PK laughs, but there’s something slightly off about it, an odd light in her eyes. “It’s a bodysuit, Pricey. It’s meant to be seen.”

For a moment Carey can’t hear over the roaring in his ears. He’s not proud of the horrible, growling instincts rising up inside of him, the indignation that anyone else can see her like this. It’s not even about that bodysuit thing (what the hell is a bodysuit?), it’s because this time is  _ theirs _ . PK curled up at his side commenting on whatever they’re watching, tucking away the food he’s made - it’s private.

By the time he manages to blink away the red clouding his gaze, PK’s still staring up at him. Her lips are pursed and finally she just shakes her head. “You are an idiot, Carey Price. You haven’t been paying attention at all.”

Which is completely wrong. He feels like she has his attention all the time. “What are you talking about?”

Her eyes flash and suddenly she’s in his lap, her hands pushing him back against the cushions. “Is this clear enough for you?” she queries, punctuating the question with a quick bite of her nails into his chest.

Carey’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. This isn’t actually happening. This is a fever dream and he’s going to wake up alone in his bed because he doesn’t get this-

“Pricey.  _ Carey _ ,” PK growls. “Honestly, what does a girl have to do?” The look in her eyes is mingled exasperation and hesitation and... something else, something deeper that suddenly makes everything seem a little clearer and sharper around him, like he’s on the ice and staring down a breakaway  _ knowing _ the puck will never make it to the back of the net. “I flashed my garters at you, Carey, how much more obvious can I be? I put a lot of effort into this stuff, the least you could do is appreciate it!”

His train of thought screeches to a halt. “You...you  _ meant  _ for me to see that?”

She throws her hands in the air. “Of course I did! Who else would I want to see my lingerie? For fuck’s sake, Carey, I’ve only been trying to get you to notice me from the beginning!”

And suddenly his heart is beating fast and something like hope is fluttering around inside of him. “PK, I’ve always noticed you.”

She scoffs and shrugs her shoulder until the neckline of her sweater drops again, revealing smooth skin and burgundy lace. “Yeah?” she asks, challenging. “Prove it.”

Carey doesn’t even hesitate. His hands grip tight on her hips as he rears up and catches her lips in a fierce kiss. He pours everything into it, all the years of longing and frustration and most of all, the sheer  _ want  _ he has for the woman in his arms.

PK gasps against his lips but then she throws herself into it, just as she does with everything else, her fingers diving into his hair and twisting through the short strands at the base of his neck. She gives as good as she gets, grinding down into him until he’s hard and aching against her, drowning in her.

Eventually he pulls back so that they can both get some air, but PK’s hands stay where they are, keeping him close. “Does that clarify things for you?” Carey asks wryly, but his voice is a little too wrecked to really pull it off.

She snorts and kisses him again, quick and with a hint of teeth. “Crystal clear, Pricey.”

“Good.” He gets them both to their feet and guides her towards the stairs, ordering the dogs to stay. “Because I want to revisit what you said about deliberately flashing your lingerie at me. In my room.”

“Oh really?” Her laugh fades a little bit as she looks at him, only to be replaced by speculation and mounting anticipation. “Why Pricey, I had no idea you had such a thing for undergarments.”

“Not undergarments,” he corrects, closing the door behind them once they’re finally in his room. “ _ Your _ undergarments.”

“Uh-huh.” PK plants her hands on his chest and pushes him onto his bed. “Don’t worry, I got you.” Her grin is bright as she toes off her socks. “One striptease, coming up.”

The words die in his throat when she winks and turns around, bending forward as she slips her sweatpants down her legs, inch by inch. He’s mesmerized by the rippling muscles in her thighs and the curve of her ass, barely covered by the same burgundy lace that he’d seen beneath her sweater.

She straightens just as slowly as she bent over and winks over her shoulder. “Still with me, Pricey?”

He’s so hard he’s concerned he’s not going to last, and she’s only half-naked. “Keep going,” he commands.

“So bossy,” she murmurs, eyes bright as she spins around, swaying back and forth to music only she can hear. Her fingers toy along the hem of the sweater, slowly tugging it up and up and up. 

A bodysuit, Carey realizes, is kind of like a swimsuit. This one is all lace, cut deep across her chest and with nearly-sheer sections criss-crossing her torso. “PK,” he begins, and growls when she laughs and tosses her sweater at him. “ _ Come here _ .”

He wouldn’t see it if he weren’t watching so closely, but he sees the quick hitch in her breath before she sashays forward. Good. He’s not the only one affected here.

She settles into his lap, just like they were on the couch. Her hands are quick on his shirt, whipping it off and throwing it who knows where. “Quid pro quo,” she laughs, mapping out his abs before sliding around to his back.

Her touch sets off fires beneath his skin and he’s probably rougher than he should be as he hauls her against him, kissing and nipping his way down her neck. All PK does is laugh, her hands coming around to squeeze at his biceps as she begins a slow, rocking rhythm that he can’t help but follow. The lace is as rough as her skin is smooth, yet he can’t bring himself to remove any of it, reveling in the contrast. Even with the layers between them, his sweats and boxers and her bodysuit, he can feel just how hot she is, how wet she’s getting.

“PK,” he mutters against her skin, that soft, silky skin, overwhelmed by the deep, spicy scent of her and the feel of her finally,  _ finally _ being in his arms.

“Mmmm, Carey,” she hums, fitting her fingers beneath his chin so that she can kiss him again. PK kisses like a dream, slow and lingering, her tongue sliding into his mouth in a way that is as filthy as it is sweet.

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her close as the other skims around her waist, sliding down and pushing the lace aside so he can slide a finger inside her. He swallows her faint gasp, relishing the quick stutter in her hips. “More?” he inquires with a slight smile, twisting his hand to get his thumb on her clit.

“Always.” PK says, more than a little breathless as he adds another finger, stretching her open and urging her rhythm into something a little faster. His tongue mimics the movement of his fingers, relishing the sounds that pour out of her throat. 

“Come on, beautiful.” He cups the base of her skull with his other hand, tangling his fingers through her braids. “Want to see you come like this before you come on my cock.”

PK’s nails dig into his back. “ _ Jesus _ ,” she gasps, riding him harder. “Who knew you had such a mouth on you, eh?”

“I’ll show you what kind of mouth I have,” he promises, unable to tear his eyes away from the way she looks right now, eyes closed and a slight flush blossoming across her cheeks. “Some other time.” His thumb presses in tight circles around her clit and Carey swears under his breath when she finally comes, her muscles clenching around his fingers as she throws her head back with a loud cry.

PK’s eyes flick open in time to see him lick the slick off his fingers and she groans, eyes flashing. “You better live up to that promise,” she mutters, shoving him back onto the bed and pulling his sweats and boxers off in one swift motion. “Maybe I’ll even return the favor.”

And that...that’s an image. PK on her knees in front of him, maybe in that corset and garters and yeah, he needs to stop thinking about it or it’ll be over before it even starts. He gropes in his bedside drawer, grabbing a condom and putting it on in record time. “Definitely. But first…” He reaches for her, flipping them easily so that she’s on her back, her hair spilling over his sheets like he’s imagined so many times before. His hands reach out to still hers when she would tug the bodysuit down. “No. Leave it.”

Her lips curve up and he can’t help himself, leaning forward to match that smile with his own. “You really do have a thing for my lingerie, don’t you?”

“I do,” Carey admits. “I have a thing for you, too.” And it’s so easy to say here, with PK grinning up at him like that.

Her expression softens. “Same.” Her legs draw up on either side of his hips, one hand reaching down to line them up. “So I’m kind of thinking you should fuck me now.”

Now it’s Carey’s turn to mutter, “Jesus,” his hips flexing as he slides into her slowly, almost decadently. PK’s back bows, a beautiful arch beneath him, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders as her eyelids flutter at the sensation.

And that’s it. He’s lost. “I can’t-” he chokes, overwhelmed by being so utterly surrounded by her. “Can-”

“There’s plenty of time for slow later, Carey.” Her hands come down to grip his ass, pulling him that much deeper inside her and making them both groan. “Come on, babe. Put your back into it.” She’s just as close to unraveling as he is, he knows it, but still the challenge comes through, loud and clear.

“Menace.” His menace, though, and the thought alone is enough to spur him on. The pace he sets is brutal, his hips moving in long, hard strokes that move her further up the bed each time he surges inside her. All the while, she’s clenching tighter and tighter around him, her voice breaking around the syllables of his name.

“ _ Carey _ .” One of her feet nudges at the back of his thigh, like she’s trying to kick him into higher gear. “Pricey, please.”

As if he’s ever been able to deny her anything. Carey keeps one hand braced by her shoulders as he continues that relentless pace, the other one working at the straps of her bodysuit, tugging it down until her breasts come into view and he can lean down to take her into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” PK whispers, her back arching even further. “Yes, like that, just like that-”

It’s the most amazing thing - PK laughs when she comes, a loud, joyful sound that brings him over the edge with her. Carey collapses into her open arms, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

She’s practically purring, running a hand through his hair. “All this over my lingerie, huh?” Her voice is low and raspy. “Good thing there’s a lot more where this came from.”

He chuckles. “I can’t wait to see all of them.” Still, he can’t have her thinking that his inability to think straight when faced with her underwear is the sole cause of all this. Levering himself onto one elbow, he looks down at her, cataloging every inch of her face. “I love you, Penelope Karla.”

PK’s smile is like a sun going supernova. “I love you too, Carey.” Then, eyebrows wiggling, she adds, “Wait till you see the corset I bought.”

Yup. Definitely going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Jo would like everyone to know that this was supposed to be pure smut. Carey just decided to have FEELINGS.


End file.
